The Gifts Trees Give

Reading Andrew Peterson's "The God of the Garden" woke something up in me. Andrew, a singer, songwriter, and author, wrote this book during the Pandemic lockdown. It is part memoir of his fascinating life and part magnificent ode to trees. 

As I read his stories and enjoyed the rich descriptions of the trees that stood like monuments to special moments in his life, the organic monuments in my own life loomed large and overwhelmed me. All of a sudden memories that I had only thought about in an abstract glossy way became memories with splinters. The trees in my life were alive again and inviting me to sit in their branches and under their shade. 

If you haven't read Peterson's book, I can't recommend it enough. I hope that it will do for you what it did for me. And to highlight some of my memories, I'd like to introduce you to three pine trees that are significant in my life. There are many more, but these four are worth some special attention. 

The Lookout Tree

On the edge of the school grounds was a special pine tree. It sat next to the jungle gym and behind the fence that separated the basketball court from a row of pines, a small creek and the fence that marked the end of our magical playground. The pine was taller than the rest. In fact it immediately stood out and caught your attention. But what made it magical was the equivalent of a stairway up its trunk. From the base all the way up it was eminently climbable.  First you would grab with both hands the sturdy branch that jutted out at a 90 degree angle. Then you had to swing your leg up and to the right to get it secured to the branch. Once your hands and one leg was in place, another good swing of your torso would get you onto the stairway. From there it was a steady and staggered set of branches to climb up two stories or so to the top. As you climbed your hands would begin to smell of the pine bark and sap. At the top there was this perfect forked branch that made a chair to sit on. The top of the tree was funny because it was the victim of one of our school's initiation dares where we would send new kids up the tree to pick the top.  It had been picked so many times that it resembled more of a bush on the top than the point of a pine. 

From the Lookout Tree's top you could see the whole campus of my missionary kid school and beyond. In fact, we could see the airplanes landing at the airport nearby. I remember sitting at the top of the Lookout Tree waiting for Pope John Paul II to land in his 747. Our town had expanded the runway so that he could land that giant plane. They also built a throne at the top of the tallest hill in our town for him to sit and give his blessing. But that day we weren't looking for a blessing. We wanted to get a glimpse of the 747! And so we sat at the top of the tree for what seemed like hours. But even Pope's can run behind schedule and we finally gave up and climbed down for dinner. 

What stands out to me most about that tree was the perspective it gave me. I grew up going to a one room schoolhouse on several acres surrounded by cattle, fields and the wild Argentine brush. But while the school was small and I was even smaller, my perspective was big. I knew what the roof of the classroom looked like. I could picture what was beyond the fence. I saw the way the clouds rolled in. I watched the tops of trees sway in the wind. The Lookout Tree gave me a bigger perspective. 

The Pinion in the Gap

This winter shot helps the pinion come alive!

I don't get sick. Well, not as an adult. As a child, I had croup, bloody noses, ear infections and every other Ear Nose and Throat issue you could imagine. But since adulthood, I switched roles and cared for others in my life who got sick. I remember countless rounds of medicine for migraines, thermometers for fevers, and constant refilling of humidifiers. But there was a time in my 30's where I was on my back in bed. I didn't have anyone to blame but myself. I thought I could fit watering the lawn in before a business meeting. So in my good shoes I walked the lawn giving special attention to the struggling grass trying to grow on top of Colorado's decomposed granite. Then I realized I had lingered a bit too long and sprinted towards the door. But wet lawn and dress shoes are a dangerous combination. The minute the smooth soul met the wooden bench between me and the sliding glass door, it gave way and sent me flying. I landed on my ankle and then tumbled to the concrete floor. I lay there unable to move until my wife, Mindy, heard my pitiful call for help and came running. 

At first I thought it would heal on its own, but our pediatrician and neighbor took a look and told me to get to a doctor right away. Sure enough, he told me I would need an operation on my ankle, including a rod to help the bone heal straight. So for the first time in a long time, I was the patient. When we got home from surgery, Mindy got me set up in my bed and there I lay. I was going to be up in that second floor bedroom for at least a few days without moving much.What do you do for 24 hours sitting in bed when you are used to a life of almost constant motion? You sit and then sit and then sit some more. 

As I lay there in bed with my foot elevated, I looked out my window. It was an amazing view of a bluff of pinion pines in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Not a bad place to be stuck. And on that bluff there was a crevice in the rock where one bolder gave way and another took up the role of watching over the valley below. But in between these two boulders was a crevice and in the crack was a pinion. It was no longer alive. My guess is that it got hit by lightning long ago. There it stood straight and lifeless in the gap. And while it had no life to give, it had a message for me. It was the picture of my life at the moment where I lay in bed with a broken ankle and a bruised soul. 

As a proud member of Generation X, Mindy and I had always joked that were were part of the "Gutter Generation." We recognized that being stuck between the more influential Boomer and Millennial Generations meant that we had to work extra hard to get opportunities. We felt caught in the middle without the opportunities that the older generation had because of their experience and the younger generation had as digital natives. 

Laying there looking at that pinion, I could relate. Stuck between the two boulders and hanging on for dear life. But as I lay there and thought more and more about it, I realized that being in the middle was a unique place from which to serve. I could relate to both. I understood the generation who built much of modern society and I also could connect with the emerging generation defined by the Internet. Just like that little pinion tree, I could find my place between the rocks and play a needed and useful role.

The Wise Old Bristlecone

Taken by my friend Jon Lewis

Think about the last time you stood in the presence of a wise and respected person in your life. You feel a sense of awe that is hard to describe as you think about all they have experienced and accomplished. I felt similarly when I stood before the Bristlecone pine behind my friend's cabin. The grove of trees were planted right there when Jesus walked the dusty roads of Galilea. That tree had seen hundreds of summers, countless thunder storms and its share of lightning strikes. It was a symbol of life and perseverance that inspires me every time I remember it. 

Well, back to the cabin. It was really much more than that. It was something between a cabin and a lodge. You could sleep 15 easily with plenty of room for big meals, playing pool, watching movies and hanging out on the deck that overlooked a range of 14,000 foot mountains deep in the Rockies. 

These friends saw Bristlecone (also the name for the property) as a way to serve others and were very generous in allowing many different people to use it. Because of their kindness, I hosted meetings there and our family spent time together playing games and relaxing under the huge log beams that supported it's great room. I remember once being comfortably ensconced at Bristlecone right after Christmas with snow falling, coffee in hand, and the John Grisham novel I had got for Christmas. It's hard to get more joy than that! 

In each of these memories, the Bristlecone tree was a constant. It sat right out back behind the house in in full view of the deck and panoramic back windows. I got to watch that tree in summer and winter, morning and night. The gnarly trunk with its stability and rugged grace are a constant reminder that our world is bigger than today's experiences. It is wider than our field of vision. And it is stronger than our flawed determination. 

In a world where everything seems disposable, there are still living things that have outlived empires and watched over the changing landscape of a mountain valley. In that same way, I can preserver through great change and still stay true to my purpose and unique contribution. 

A Trip Through the Pines

I didn't mean to write about three pines, but those were the stories that came out. It goes to show you that the trees in your life will surprise you with what they have to say and the memories they bring to life. I hope you will take time to read Andrew Peterson's book and then reflect on the trees that have defined your life. If your experience is anything like mine, it will be a worthwhile trip.